Tessa has loved theater and preforming since she was little. She's been getting the main roles ever since attending Canary High school Preforming Arts. She believes she's best and only her.
Zara is the new girl and has quite the character. As she s...
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(A/N: just so you know, you should be able to tell whose POV it is based on the initial in the chapter)
Love is something I could never really grasp. Of course, I've felt it, but I've never truly understood it. The meaning of love, the one in the dictionary still stuns me, 'A feeling of deep affection'.
I think about it often, the topic of love. Why do some people hate it so much, while others love it? Why is it so important to us? Can we live a fulfilling and satisfying life without it? Is it necessary?
Although love seems to cross my mind, I can't seem to find it myself. I wanna share that feeling with someone. As a kid, I would dream of being someone's princess and living in a castle with my prince charming.
As I got older, that prince charming never came, instead, I always found myself liking the princesses. I used to think it was a test from God. Except those tests kept happening, over and over again. It wasn't a test, it was love.
That's why love replays in my head because I was told God would send me someone when the time was right. Love isn't something I can control, but I don't think God does either.
I still don't who I am. When I figure that out, it's hard to tell if I'll believe in Him anymore.
Religion is also something I struggle with. Even though I've been going to church since I was small, I'm not sure I believe it. My faith is slowly drifting, I don't feel or hear Him anymore. I don't think he exists but at the same time, I think there is something out there or up there. A spiritual figure that guides us through life and death, is what I theorize.
According to religion, you can't love the same gender and you can't love a different religion. Love is universal, no control or limits to what you love.
It's hard to understand why I know all of this but people don't get close enough to know. Getting close to people means getting attached and if they leave, it'll only end in heartbreak. So I don't have many friends, I'm known as the loner, someone who keeps to themselves.
Of course, it may just be my imagination, because no one has ever actually called me that. People don't know me, so when my father told me the news about the move, I wasn't at all fazed.
While sitting in the grass, lying against a tree, I appreciate the book in my hands. I read in between each line and understanding the context of each page. The book creates scenarios in my head, helping me better understand it.
My own version of the characters doing exactly what the book says, I understand the book a little more.
Being able to truly understand a book is important to me. Reading between the lines, picking up on characteristics, and understanding meaning in dialogue. It's all important. I take my time to read books. I'm not a slow reader, just a good one.
I find joy in reading in natural noises. Bees buzzing, wind blowing, leaves trailing across the pavement, the chattering of squirrels, the tweets of birds, and the faint barks of dogs. It's all I need to read and enjoy myself.
Reading is one of the few times I'm happy, truly happy. At home, reading is impossible. My five siblings are all younger than me ranging from 2-10. They are loud and the house is never quiet. So the park is my escape, it's sad to say this is the last time I'll be here. I wonder how different the park will be over there?
I'm moving to California, the home of all celebrities and carefree lifestyles. I don't know how I feel about such a state. The cost of living is up the roof because people just keep moving there, including us. California probably hates people moving and living in her. Great now I'm feeling bad for a state, get a grip, Zara.
The sun continues to fall, melting into the sea. The moon will soon come, so I pack my things and hop onto my bike. I travel back home, getting a good look at all the things one last time.
Passing the Cafe I could smell from miles away, the gas station where I would get my snacks, and my high school where I made zero to no memories.
When I finally get home, walking past the moving truck, I'm met with my huge family sitting on the floor.
My younger siblings have spaghetti all over their faces and my mom looks stressed. "Look what the cat dragged in."
"Dad, you say that every single time. It never gets funnier," I say shaking my head in an annoyed manner.
"It's worth a shot," he replies with a smile. My dad's always been an outgoing and friendly guy. He's always playing with the kids, just as he played with me. He and I have an amazing bond, which I will forever cherish. I hope that doesn't change.
After washing my hands, free of the germs from the park, I sit down with my family. Next to my brother, Jay. My mom brings me my plate, filled with her spaghetti and meatballs.
As I eat, I look around at our empty house. No fridge, couches, chairs, or table. My childhood home was empty. I still have a few months until I'm eighteen, so I can say it's truly my childhood home. Then again, I'm not gonna miss it.
I finished up my spaghetti, throwing away the plate and cutlery. I head outside to put my bike safely in the truck. I make sure it's secure before getting out. Everything is packed and we leave tonight.
Maybe this move will be good for me or it will end in total disaster. Who that's up to? I have no idea but if it's up to me, then I'm fucked.
